Ping
Twitch, twitch
Longing heaves my very soul through my mouth onto the screen
As I tip toe the tight rope between apathy and consummation,
devoutly to be wished by all and every one.
A bound chest must hide what what the aggravated heart doth know,
Or believe itself to know, when the brain is an iceberg which is melting
Trying to reap the remaining globules while still frozen stoic,
Because I cannot swim.
Ping.
Ping.
....
Ping
Pi-cking up the phone, I typed a garbled string of letters to throw out that desperate line, but it return more depleted than before.
One minute, no answer. My eyes skitted from the screen to phone, words to script to trembling extremities
Two minutes, I turned my phone back on and check again, on the off-chance it went on silent without my knowing.
Three minutes, I declared my social discovery mission a failure.
Fifteen minutes, the former conversation continued as if my input was followed by a pulsing line in my vision only.
Ping
Two hours later I rejoin the conversation, and all is well.
Ping
Ping
Two hours five minutes, life is optimal.
Two hours five minutes and forty two seconds, life is sub optimal
Three hours, dinner. I nodded and stared at gaps in speech, miles away from the foundations holding me upwards, miles into the wiring of my walkie talkie, straining for the electrons to converse and collide and sound that holy din so I may excuse myself and extrude my garish tendencies like tendrils winding into the crevices of life's experiences, tarnishing them like I always seem to.
It is a gift, I say.
You are a terrible person. They say,
You do not belong. They say.
In my head.
Ping.
Ping.
___
I created this because in the last few months I've started realizing how much of a struggle it is to know when to stop socially. I've never been the best at talking to people because it's so easy for you or them to get the scale of the situation wrong, while in poetry it is much easier to get across exactly how you're feeling.
Twitch, twitch
Longing heaves my very soul through my mouth onto the screen
As I tip toe the tight rope between apathy and consummation,
devoutly to be wished by all and every one.
A bound chest must hide what what the aggravated heart doth know,
Or believe itself to know, when the brain is an iceberg which is melting
Trying to reap the remaining globules while still frozen stoic,
Because I cannot swim.
Ping.
Ping.
....
Ping
Pi-cking up the phone, I typed a garbled string of letters to throw out that desperate line, but it return more depleted than before.
One minute, no answer. My eyes skitted from the screen to phone, words to script to trembling extremities
Two minutes, I turned my phone back on and check again, on the off-chance it went on silent without my knowing.
Three minutes, I declared my social discovery mission a failure.
Fifteen minutes, the former conversation continued as if my input was followed by a pulsing line in my vision only.
Ping
Two hours later I rejoin the conversation, and all is well.
Ping
Ping
Two hours five minutes, life is optimal.
Two hours five minutes and forty two seconds, life is sub optimal
Three hours, dinner. I nodded and stared at gaps in speech, miles away from the foundations holding me upwards, miles into the wiring of my walkie talkie, straining for the electrons to converse and collide and sound that holy din so I may excuse myself and extrude my garish tendencies like tendrils winding into the crevices of life's experiences, tarnishing them like I always seem to.
It is a gift, I say.
You are a terrible person. They say,
You do not belong. They say.
In my head.
Ping.
Ping.
___
I created this because in the last few months I've started realizing how much of a struggle it is to know when to stop socially. I've never been the best at talking to people because it's so easy for you or them to get the scale of the situation wrong, while in poetry it is much easier to get across exactly how you're feeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment